Chapter 28: Chapter 28

◇ KEL ◇

"Don't mind him." Enzo grinned at me after Miles' father left and closed the door.

Now I was alone with Enzo in the guest room, since Enzo's bodyguard was right outside, doing his job.

For a moment, Enzo studied my reaction to Mr. Falco's warning.  "He's just being paranoid, like my family."

"You should be." I frowned. Odd how he didn't seem fazed by what happened this morning. "Some guys just tried to kill you."

"Typical Saturday for me." Enzo chuckled.

Sure. I almost bought his indifference, but his fake grin and laugh told me a different truth. Did he mean to say his family's business mostly involved getting into this kind of trouble?  Or was he simply trying to lighten up the mood?

"Fa tutto parte del mio lavoro."

Part of his job?  Was he serious? I just stared at the guy. Maybe he was just using humor to cope with the whole thing?

"Comunque sia, quanti anni hai?"

"25. Why?" I replied after he asked about my age. I placed the back of my palm on his neck to check his temperature. I watched him closely, almost enjoying this quiet moment with him.

My sleep-deprived brain had been shocked—staggeringly dumbfounded—when I first saw Cloe's stab wounds. But with Enzo, I'd felt a lot calmer earlier, and tending to his injuries felt like drifting back to reality.

"Why are you not doing this for a living?" Enzo furrowed his brows and kept watching me. His deep-set eyes focused on my face.

"Doing what?" I stopped checking his pulse and inspected the bandage on his forehead. The bullet had merely grazed the edge of his hairline. Such a weird trajectory. This guy had too much luck. Angels certainly watched over him.

"Medicine."

"Um...long story," I muttered while mentally debating whether I should give him a sponge bath or what. Did he want one? He'd been sweating for hours. "Keep drinking water."

"I just did," Enzo murmured after glancing at the empty glass on the nightstand. "Where's your family from?"

"They're in New York. Schenectady."

"How did you end up here if you're from New York?"

"To work full-time." I put the half-empty bowl of porridge on the food tray, quite surprised by his series of questions. "Dropped out of medical school. Then I applied for a working visa here. Was already doing small-time modeling jobs there whenever I could. So I thought...why not work here instead?"

"Why drop out?"

"Money issues." I looked away from his attentive gaze. It was like he was interviewing me out of boredom.

"I see." Enzo squinted. "So you tried modeling to pay for school?"

"Yeah." I scratched my temple at his prompt follow-up questions. "Sometimes I help my parents out. Dad's been sick for a while."

"Ah. I get it now."  Enzo nodded weakly.  "You think maturely for your age, bellezza."

Was that a compliment?  Did he just call me "pretty" again?  The flattery sounded rather sincere, though.

Oh. Right. The cheque. I took the piece of paper out of my dress pocket.  "By the way, here's the..." I cleared my throat. "Thanks, but I don't need it," I lied.

Almost immediately, Enzo scowled at me. His thick brows creased at the blank cheque I tried to hand him. "That's yours."

"No. It's yours," I muttered with a quick smile. Actually, I just felt like I had to be cautious and levelheaded. Besides, it wasn't like he flatlined and I revived him from near death single-handedly.

"What?"

"You don't have to give me money."

"I'm serious, Mykaela." Enzo, still sitting on the edge of the bed,  kept frowning at my refusal to accept his help. "You need it for school, and other things."

"Thanks. Really. But I can't take your money."

The guy sighed and faintly shook his head. "Alright, then. Someone will deliver it in cash to your parents' house. I have an office in New York."

"What? No. Don't." I chuckled, quite alarmed by his suggestion. "You can thank me later." I moved away from the bed to refill his glass with water. "When you're back to your normal routine and able to work again."

"How?" Enzo pulled a face. "How can I return the favor?"

"Up to you," I said nonchalantly. Then my eyes focused on the slight swelling on his left foot. I'd already checked his ankle injury earlier, but Enzo didn't want me to bandage his foot, too.

Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation.

Obviously, he wasn't doing any of those at the moment; he'd complained that the ice pack hurt his foot more, so I didn't insist.  "You need to go to the bathroom again?" I asked just to shift the topic.

"Not really."

"You're making me wanna bandage that foot now." Noticing the sheen of sweat on his tan skin, I turned away from the bed to find a towel in the bathroom. "Keep your ankle elevated."

"Been sitting in bed for hours." Enzo sighed loudly.

"Looks like a lateral ligament tear. You can't put pressure on it for three days at least." I walked back to the bed with a damp face towel in hand. Ignoring his unclothed upper body became a tad more challenging while I sat next to him.

His bare feet stayed on the carpet as we kept chatting. "Okay."

"Use compression socks and binding. Daily. And no physical activities for a while."

"Fine."  He merely watched while I wiped sweat off his neck, arms, and chest, carefully working around his fresh bandages. "Why won't you let me pay you?"

"You really don't have to." I grimaced a bit. "It's not—"

"I should."

"It's nothing. Really." I averted my eyes and wiped his hands clean. Did he still want to give me a signed blank check? I hoped he would just stop insisting.

"You didn't tell me you're going back to New York." Enzo inched closer to me as we sat on the edge of the bed.

"Who told you?"

"Stefano." Enzo scratched his stubble.  "You will be in the plane with us. Right? Is your flight tomorrow?"

Why did he care? "Yes. Dad needs surgery." I started peeling an orange for him. "I have to be there."

"Surgery?" Enzo grunted when he tried to adjust his sitting position. Although his stitches weren't bleeding anymore, he still seemed to be in severe pain.  Every now and then, he would groan and clench the muscles near his injured arm. Hopefully he would be given the utmost care and proper treatment he needed once they took him to the city hospital. "Why does he need surgery?"

"Tumors. Cancer." I handed him the peeled orange but Enzo only shook his head. "You're sweating a lot. Sure you feel fine? Do you need water?"

"No more." Enzo sighed again.  He kept staring, just watching my every move like it amused him or something.  "Why won't you accept my help?"

"Just 'cause..."

"It's my own money."

"Thanks, but no thanks." I put on another smile. "Can we chat about something else?"

"I'm still curious about you and Maximiliano." His right hand combed back his dark hair that now looked less unkempt because of sweat. The wall lights shaded some shadow on his angular face, emphasizing his sharp cheekbones and jawline.  "Are you together?" His attractive blue eyes focused on me again.

Or were they light green? Pale gray? The windows were shut closed, the wall lights weren't bright enough, and dusk had already settled in.  "We're friends. The paramedics should've been here half an hour ago," I said casually after wiping cold sweat off his back. Anything that would make him feel a little better for the time being.

"It's okay. I like how you take care of your patient."

"Enzo, I've given you antibiotics but I'm not sure it's taking effect."

"Great."  The guy looked me in the eyes again, his heavy-lidded gaze calm and quite...appreciative. His dimpled smile showed his nice teeth. "You'll have to stay with me till the plane gets here."

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